I
admire artists.
to love
their art is to
live an esthetically pleasing and interesting life of somebody else - not mine.
recently, so many
have left the country to live somewhere else. and I
grow indifferent to those who have stayed.
the
past is in my dreams at night, I thought I saw the past on the stairs near the railway
station, she was walking with her head down, so I'm not sure if it was her.
on the
photographs, the past is bright and warm. seems so unreal from today's perspective.
forgive
me everything I have done wrong, forgive me I have become someone detached from
life, frozen, absent. defeated.
forgive me, because
I can't forgive myself.
I loved you.
I loved you.
